


Dean is Not a Good Storyteller

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Destiel - Freeform, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Storytelling, dean/cas - Freeform, more like failed attempts at crack, this is really silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5618749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cas has been gone for a week, Dean decides to tell scary stories, Sam and Bobby refuse Dean's whims, but later on acquiesce. Cas comes back, Dean can’t get his hands off him, the scary stories unfold, and then, shit just got real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean is Not a Good Storyteller

**Author's Note:**

> **This was originally published on May 18, 2013 under my old username.**
> 
> **Warnings:** Not beta'd, OOCness, inconsistent tenses, English is not my first language  
>  **Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended.

Dean and Sam have been staying in Bobby’s house for the past week, waiting for leads about a rumoured vengeful spirit. They’ve posed as the FBI, visited places the hearsay spirit tormented, and researched about its true identity, but all for naught, even after a week. It’s not helping that Castiel is busy Upstairs, earning him comments from Sam like ‘Your boyfriend will soon be here’, him answering ‘It’s not like I miss him or anything’, and Sam grinning like a maniac.

Which is why Dean was going restless, and to calm him down, Bobby made him tidy up his books scattered everywhere. ‘Don’t worry about your boyfriend,’ Bobby said, ‘I’m not worried about him,’ Dean said.

Dean complained to clean at first, but Sam and Bobby refused to give him beer, so he had no choice but to comply. They also said that time will pass by quickly, and before he knows it, the books will be all cleaned up, and Castiel will be back from Heaven. He had been cleaning the books upstairs when he found a thin book with ‘Sam Winchester’ written in a child’s handwriting on the cover.

 _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_ , the cover said. Dean felt himself smile as he flipped through the pages of what seemed to be his brother’s book. They must have left it here when they were young, when John was too busy hunting, and Bobby was nearby.

And just like that, Dean had a ‘brilliant’ idea to pass the time while waiting for a certain angel. Whom he’s not terribly missing, he swears.

**xxx---xxx---xxx---xxx**

They were eating dinner when Dean spoke.

“I have a brilliant idea for tonight’s activities,” he said smugly, taking a swig from the beer.

“And what that might be?” Sam asked, “Summoning Cas?”

“Shut up,” he countered, and said in a lower voice, “He’s busy.”

Sam chuckled. “You’re acting like a schoolgirl.”

“No I’m not!”

“You’re blushing!”

“I’m not!”

“ _Girls_ ,” Bobby interrupted in a threatening tone.

Sam was still laughing and Dean scowling when they heard a flutter of wings.

Dean tensed. He slowly craned his neck towards the sound, and there he saw him in all his trench-coated glory.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said in that gruff baritone, smile ghosting his lips.

“Hey Cas,” Dean greeted back, refusing to smile and lock the angel in a fierce embrace.

They stared right into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, radiating an aura which Sam likes call ‘UST aura’.

Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, you were saying about something about tonight’s activities?”

Dean looked back at Sam. “Yeah, right. I want everyone to gather around a candlestick. That includes you, angel.”

Sam, Bobby, and Cas stared at him.

“Is that a new method to summon the spirit we’re hunting?” Sam asked.

“You still haven’t hunted down the spirit?” Cas said.

“No,” Dean said, “I’m starting to believe that it’s nothing but a rumour perpetuated by drunken college students.”

“Then why do want us to gather around a candlestick?” Bobby asked incredulously.

“This,” Dean announced, holding up the book he found earlier.

“That… That book,” Sam trailed, reaching out a hand to grab the book, and said fondly “This was mine. This _is_ mine. I probably left it here when we were kids.”

“What’s that?” Cas asked.

“ _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_ ,” Sam answered in a chipper tone, “Bobby gave this to us when Dad left us here one time. Bobby said that it’s better to read one another scary stories instead of actually living them.”

“And still is,” Bobby said in a grave tone.

Then, something hit Sam. “Dean, you’re not thinking of gathering around a fire to read to each other scary stories, aren’t you?”

Dean grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking about.”

Sam rolled his eyes and Bobby turned away, muttering “Shouldn’t have given Sam the book.”

“You do realise that this kind of thing doesn’t scare us anymore, do you? We’re _hunters_ , Dean. Scary stories don’t scare us,” Sam said.

“Come on Sammy, don’t be such a girl,” Dean said, “You too, Bobby. Who knows, this vengeful spirit might be a fan of, who’s the author,” he looked back to the book, “Alvin Schwartz?”

Sam and Bobby looked at him like he just announced his pregnancy.

“You’re not serious,” Bobby asked.

Dean looked dejected.

“I would love to participate in Dean’s idea,” Cas said.

Dean looked at him. Cas beamed back in a rather lopsided smile. Dean strode towards him, took the other’s hands in his own, placed his forehead against his, and whispered, “Let’s do this, Cas.”

“I’M ALSO IN!” Sam said loudly.

All three looked at him. Sam told Bobby under his breath, “I don’t like where they are heading.”

“What do you mean?” Bobby whispered back.

“Well, you know! They haven’t seen each other for a week, and the beds here are creaky, and—”

“COUNT ME IN,” Bobby told Dean.

Without letting Castiel’s hands go, Dean said, “That’s great. Sammy, you go get the candle.”

**x.x.x.x**

A few minutes later, they found themselves sitting around a candlestick in Bobby’s living room. Sam was at Dean’s left side, Cas at his right, and Bobby in front.

He began by clearing his throat. He opened the book, and said in a serious tone, “ _The Big Toe_.”

“A boy was digging at the edge of the garden when he saw a big toe. He tried to pick it up, but it was stuck to something. So he gave it a good hard jerk, and it came off in his hand. Then he heard something groan and scampered away.

“The boy took the toe into the kitchen and showed it to his mother. ‘It looks nice and plump,’ she said, ‘I’ll put it in the soup, and we’ll have it for supper.”

Dean surveyed his audience. Sam looks bored, Bobby was studying the candle, and Cas was staring at him.

He smiled at Cas and continued.

“That night, his father carved the toe into three pieces, and they each had a piece. Then they did the dishes, and when it got dark they went to bed.

“The boy fell asleep almost at once. But in the middle of the night, a sound awakened him. It was something out in the street. It was a voice, and it was calling to him.

“‘Where is my to-o-o-o-o-e?’ it groaned.

“When the boy heard that, he got very scared. But the thought, ‘It doesn’t know where I am. It never will find me.’

“Then he heard the voice once more. Only it was closer.”

Dean looked at three again, but his companions’s expressions remained unchanged. He sighed, and continued with a lower tone.

“‘Where is my to-o-o-o-o-e?’ it groaned.

“The boy pulled the blankets over his head and closed his eyes. ‘I’ll go to sleep,’ he thought. ‘When I wake up it will be gone.’

“But soon he heard the back door open, and again he heard the voice.

“‘Where is my to-o-o-o-o-e?’ it groaned.

“Then the boy heard footsteps move through the kitchen into the dining room, into the living room, into the front hall. Then slowly they climbed the stairs.

“Closer and closer they came. Soon they were in the upstairs hall. Now they were outside his door.

“‘Where is my to-o-o-o-o-e?’ the voice groaned.

“His door opened. Shaking with fear, he listened as the footsteps slowly moved through the dark toward his bed. Then they stopped.

“‘Where is my to-o-o-o-o-e?’ the voice groaned.”

Dean paused. Then he quickly jumped at Sam and said in a loud voice, “YOU’VE GOT IT!”

Instead of looking scared, Sam bore a stoic look that rivalled that of Castiel’s.

“Err, am I supposed to jump in fright?” Sam asked good-naturedly.

Bobby yawned.

“Couldn’t you be more cooperative?” Dean said.

“Couldn’t you brush up on your storytelling skills?” Sam countered.

 He ignored Sam’s comment and continued to read.

“It says here that _The Big Toe_ has another ending. Here it is:

“When the boy hears the voice calling for its toe, he finds a strange-looking creature up inside the chimney. The boy is so frightened he can’t move. He just stands there and stares at it.

“Finally he asks: ‘W-w-w-what you got such big eyes for?’

“And the creature answers: ‘To look you thro-o-o-ugh and thro-o-o-ugh!’

“‘W-w-w-what you got such big claws for?’

“‘To scra-a-a-tch up your gra-a-a-a-ve!’

“‘W-w-w-what you got such a big mouth for?’

“‘To swallow you who-o-o-le!’

“‘W-w-w-what you got such sharp teeth for?’

“‘TO CHOMP YOUR BONES!’” Dean said as pounced onto Castiel. He landed on top of him and chortled, brushing their noses together.

“Are you scared?” Dean said softly.

“It takes a lot more to scare an angel,” Cas replied, opening his eyes to stare right back at Dean.

Dean leaned in and kissed Cas chastely. Cas kissed back, and Sam pretended to have a coughing fit.

“There are others here,” Sam said uncomfortably.

Bobby was glaring at them.

Dean got back to his place and opened the book once more. “Okay. Let’s read another story. You better be a responsive audience.”

Sam and Bobby rolled their eyes. Dean began reading.

“This story is called _Me Tie Dough-ty Walker!_

“There was a haunted house where every night a bloody head fell down the chimney. At least that’s what people said. So nobody would stay there overnight.

“Then a rich man offered two hundred dollars to whoever would do it. And this boy said he would try if he could have his dog with him. So it was all settled.

“The very next night the boy went to the house with his dog. To make it more cheerful, he started a fire in the fireplace. Then he sat in front of the fire and waited, and his dog waited with him.

“For a while nothing happened. But a little after midnight he heard someone singing softly and sadly off the woods. The singing sounded something like this…”

Dean dropped his voice a notch, “ME TIE DOUGH-TY WALKER!”

He looked back to the three. They were still looking uninterested, so he shrugged, and read aloud.

“‘It’s just somebody singing,’ the boy told himself, but he was frightened.

“Then his dog heard the song! Softly and sadly, it sang:

“‘LYNCHEE KINCHY COLLY MOLLY DINGO DINGO!’”

Sam giggled.

“The boy could not believe his ears. His dog had never uttered a word before. Then a few minutes later, he heard the singing again. Now it was closer and louder, but the words were the same:

“‘ME TIE DOUGH-TY WALKER!’”

Sam was still giggling, and Bobby looked at Dean instead of the candle. Cas never took his eyes off Dean.

Satisfied by his audience’s ‘cooperation’, Dean continued.

“This time the boy tried to stop his dog from answering. He was afraid that whoever was singing would hear it and come after them.

“But his dog paid no attention, and again it sang:

“‘LYNCHEE  KINCHY MOLLY DINGO DINGO’

“A half hour later the boy heard the singing again. Now it was in the backyard, and the song was the same:

“‘ME TIE DOUGH-TY WALKER!’

“Again the boy tried to keep his dog quiet. But the dog sang louder than ever:

“‘LYNCHEE KINCHY COLLY MOLLY DINGO DINGO!’”

Sam’s giggles became distracting, and Dean glared at him. “You’re disturbing the others who are clearly interested in how the story would proceed.”

Sam laughed back, and said between breaths, “Just… Just continue.”

So he did.

“Soon the boy heard the singing again. Now it was coming down the chimney:

“‘ME TIE DOUGH-TY WALKER!’

“The dog sang right back:

“‘LYNCHEE KINCHY COLLY MOLLY DINGO DINGO!’”

Sam’s giggles turned into guffaws, much to Dean’s dismay. Bobby realised that a laughing Sam is more interesting than Dean, while Cas’s focus on Dean never faltered.

“Suddenly a bloody head fell out of the chimney. It missed the fire and landed right next to the dog. The dog took one look and fell over—dead from fright.

“The head turned and stared at the boy. Slowly it opened its mouth, and—” Dean turned to the laughing Sam, “AAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Sam’s body convulsed with laughter. Bobby spared a smile, and Cas told Dean, “At least they were responsive this time.”

Dean looked back at him. “That story was supposed to be scary, not funny. There’s a funny section in the book, and _Me Tie Dough-ty Walker_ didn’t come from that. It came from the make-your-friends-jump-with-fright section.”

“So you would rather have them staring at you expressionless?”

Dean sighed. “Come here.”

Cas scooted closer and Dean wrapped his arms around the other’s waist. He whispered in the angel’s ear, “So what kept you up there so long?”

“I needed to clean up Raphael’s mess.”

“And you’re the only angel who can do that?”

“No, but my help was needed. My brothers and sisters could use another pair of wings. What did you do while I was gone?”

“Oh you know, hunting this rumoured vengeful spirit. After a week, we still got no leads, but at least you’re here.”

Dean tugged Cas closer and sucked his ear, eliciting a moan from him.

“WHY DON’T YOU READ ANOTHER STORY DEAN,” Sam said rather loudly, then he looked at Bobby and whispered, “This is what we’re trying to avoid.”

“I’ll go get some beer while Dean decides what story to read,” Bobby played along, standing up, “You want a bottle, Cas?”

“No, thank you,” Cas replied, who was now out of Dean’s personal space.

Moments later, Bobby returned with three bottles, and Dean got up. “I’ll just get the necessary props.”

“Props?” Sam asked, then took a drink.

“The next story that I’ll be reading is intentionally funny.”

“You mean, _Me Tie Dough-ty Walker_ wasn’t funny?”

“You’re insulting Schwartz.”

“Sorry, Schwartz.”

Dean went to the kitchen to get the props: a wet, squishy tomato, two peeled grapes, a chicken bone, a dried apricot, a cloth filled with ice, a handful of corn silk, a piece of raw liver, a bowl of catsup thinned with warm water, and a handful of wet, cooked spaghetti noodles.

Man, Bobby’s kitchen sure has it all.

He placed everything in a covered tray and returned to where the three are. The three eyed the tray suspiciously, which he placed behind him. He sat down, got the book, and read again.

“ _The Dead Man’s Brains_. This scary story—(“Sam, stop scoffing.”)—is a scary game—(“ _Sam_.”)—that people play at Hallowe’en. But it can be played whenever the spirit moves you.

“The players sit in a circle in a darkened room and listen to a storyteller describe the rotting remains of a corpse. Each part is passed around for them to feel. In one version—”

“Dean, we all know what corpses and their ‘rotting remains’ feel like,” Sam said, air quotes and all.

“—a player is out if he or she screams or gasps with fright. In another version, everybody stays to the end, no matter how scared they get.”

Sam rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that night.

“I say we play the second version mention,” Dean said, got a penlight out of his pocket, and blew the candle off.

“Dean,” “Hey,” “Dean?” Sam, Bobby, and Cas said respectively.

Dean turned the penlight on. “This game is best played with no lights on.”

“Dean—” Sam said exasperatedly.

“Shut up Sammy,” Dean said, “The third story was your idea, right?”

“…Right,” Sam said, and said really, really softly, “But only because I don’t want to bleach my ears, eyes, and brain.”

Bobby nodded, though no one could see him.

“You sayin’ something?” Dean asked.

“No, nothing. Why don’t you continue?”

“All right, here it goes:

“Once in this town there lived a man named Brown. It was years ago, on this night, that he was murdered out of spite.

“We have here his remains.

“First, let’s feel his brains,” Dean turned around, switched the penlight on, grabbed the wet, squishy tomato, switched the penlight off, and passed the tomato around.

“What is this?” Cas asked, passing the tomato to Bobby.

“I told you, his brains,” he replied, and kissed Cas’s cheeks with a wet, smacking noise despite the darkness.

“Eeeewww,” Sam said, but whether it was because of the kiss or the tomato, no one knew. Bobby suspects that it was the former.

Dean repeated the routine for all the remaining eight objects.

“Now, here are his eyes, still frozen with surprise. (Two peeled grapes)

“This is his nose. (A chicken bone)

“Here is his ear. (A dried apricot)

“And here is his hand, rotting flesh and bone. (A cloth filled with ice).”

“Isn’t this just a wet cloth?” Bobby asked.

“Just enjoy the game, Bobby,” Dean said, and continued.

“But his hair still grows. (A handful of corn silk)

“And his heart still beats, now and then. (A piece of raw liver)

“And his blood still flows. Dip your fingers in it. It’s nice and warm. (A bowl of catsup thinned with warm water)

“That’s all there is, except for these worms. They are the ones that ate the rest of him.” (A handful of wet, cooked spaghetti.)

“I seem to have squished a worm,” Cas said.

“Are there even worms in my kitchen?” Bobby asked disbelievingly, “Where are these crawlies hiding?”

“Maybe there really are worms in your kitchen,” Sam said, “You have the charred bone of a lesser saint, so why wouldn’t you have worms? Dean, where did you even get these? Worms are so—”

“Dude, they’re not real worms,” Dean said, reaching for the ‘worms’ amidst the darkness, “They’re cooked spaghe—Hey, turn on the lights! Quick!”

Convinced that this was just a part of the storytelling, Bobby made no haste in navigating around his house.

“Bobby, quick!”

Bobby grunted, turned on the lights, and heard Dean say, “What the hell.”

“What’s wrong?” Cas said.

“…Worms,” Dean said, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, worms,” said Sam, “You got them in Bobby’s kitchen, remember?”

“No… I grabbed the cooked spaghetti in the fridge and dowsed it. Which is why I don’t know how real worms got in here.”

Sam stared at Dean nonchalantly.

“It’s true, I swear! They were cooked spaghetti at first, but now they’re worms! I also got a tomato, dried apricot, raw liver—Sonofabitch.”

Dean looked at the tray where he put all the props, and Sam, Bobby, and Cas followed suit.

“I may have lots of weird things in my house, but I’m not sure if a real brain is one of them,” Bobby said.

“Where did you get these?” Sam asked.

“I… I don’t know! That brain was supposed to be a tomato! And that nose? That’s a chicken bone.”

“Are you sure?” Sam said.

“I bet my Baby,” Dean said.

“You must be serious to bet your car like that,” Bobby said, “Alright Sam, get some salt. The spirit may have followed us here.”

“But is there as spirit which can transform things?” Sam stated.

“Not that I know of, but we’ll have to investigate inside the salt circle. Get the salt rounds, Dean. Cas, help me find what kind of spirit are we dealing with.”

They moved to do the tasks assigned, but the lights flickered, until they shut down for good.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean cursed, using his penlight to illuminate things, “Is everyone okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said.

“I am unharmed,” Cas said.

“Give me that penlight, you idjit,” Bobby said, “The faster we know what kind of spirit is this, the sooner we can go to sleep.”

“I’ll search for more light,” Cas said, knocking something along the way.

“Cas?” Dean said, fumbling around in the dark to find where Cas is, and when he found him, he helped him to his feet. He laced their fingers together and navigated around Bobby’s house, “We’ll search the kitchen. Once we find the flashlights, we’ll get the salt rounds and hit the books.”

They proceeded to the kitchen’s direction, only to stop in their tracks when they heard someone say, ‘Where is my to-o-o-o-o-e?’

“Who said that?” Sam asked.

“It must be the spirit,” Cas suggested.

Then they heard, ‘ME TIE DOUGH-TY WALKER!’

“Alright spirit, playtime’s over! Show yourself!” Dean said angrily.

“Are you nuts?” Bobby said, equally angry, “We don’t have any light and weapon, and you want to take the bull by the horns?”

Suddenly, the wind rattled, the windows shook, the temperature dropped, and combined tormented moans of ‘LYNCHEE  KINCHY MOLLY DINGO DINGO’ and ‘Where is my to-o-o-o-o-e?’ echoed everywhere.

Instinctively, they moved closer to each other, and Dean held Cas’s hand tighter. Bobby sporadically lit any spot with the only penlight they’ve got.

Dean pulled Cas closer. “Stay right beside me.”

“Or I could zap anywhere to get help.”

“No. You stay right here. You’re not going anywhere. The spirit might follow you.”

“I can defend myself. We really need to get help.”

“No Cas. Just no,” and he kissed the angel’s forehead.

Then an all-too familiar voice cackled.

“Look at you two,” the voice said, “You’re about the get attacked by a… What is it? ‘Vengeful spirit’? And you’re still making out with my brother?”

Then, realisation hit them.

“GABRIEL, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Dean swore, and the lights turned back on.

They were huddled in the centre of the living room, Dean’s left arm wrapped tight around Cas’s waist, with Gabriel standing in front of them.

Cas removed Dean’s arm and said in a serious tone, “Gabriel, I think you owe us an explanation.”

Gabriel laughed. “Oh Cassie dear, why so serious? I thought you four were playing a game?”

“Yeah, until you decided to interfere!”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said in his I’m-an-angel-of-the-Lord tone, “Now, Gabriel.”

“Oh come on,” Gabriel said, “I was just playing around. I wanted to see why you were in a hurry to go to Earth, so I followed you, and I saw you four playing. Then I decided to spice things up.”

All four stared at him.

“What do you mean, Cas in a hurry?” Dean said.

“Oh silly! I actually don’t know why until I followed my brother, and then I found out that it’s because he wants to get home to his _boyfriend_.”

Castiel blushed.

“And you think that what you did was a good idea?” Dean shot back.

“At least you got a response from your audience.”

Sam sniggered.

“Look, even Sammy thinks the same.”

Sam stopped laughing, but told Gabriel, “Yeah, but I don’t think that what you did was a good idea.”

Gabriel stepped closer to them, and put either of his arms on Sam and Bobby’s shoulders. “Do you or do you not want to hear my brother and his boyfriend in the throes of passion? I’m doing you a favour here.”

“Actually,” Bobby said, releasing himself from Gabriel’s arms, “Maybe you have a point.”

Sam removed Gabriel’s arms from his shoulder. “But I still think that what you did was not fine.”

“Don’t give me that bollocks,” Gabriel said teasingly, and whispered, “I couldn’t stop Cassie and Dean-o from having sex, but I can give the two of you something to… Block things out.”

**xxx---xxx---xxx---xxx**

After Castiel berated Gabriel for an hour and the latter half-heartedly apologised, things were back to normal. Dean and Cas retreated to a room to… do things, while Sam and Bobby wrapped the day up with bottles of beer in the kitchen. With earplugs on.

They were minding their own businesses when Castiel’s laboured moan of ‘ _Faster, Dean! H-harder!_ ’ shook the house. Sam and Bobby exchanged looks.

Dean’s wanton groan was next.

Followed by ‘ _D-Deeeeaaaaannnnn… P-please_!’

Then ‘ _Dammit Cas_!’

And worst of all, Dean and Cas’s scandalous, obscene, house-rattling cries when they came.

_“GABRIEL!”_

 

**_fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

>  **Copyright:**  
>  Schwartz, Alvin and Brett Helquist. “The Big Toe”, “Me Tie Dough-ty Walker!”, and “The Dead Man’s Brains”. _Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark_. 2007. New York: HaperCollins Publishers. pp. 7-9, 14-16, and 55-56.


End file.
